Tides of a Revolution
by JennaKobis
Summary: A sequel to Rain What if the Crown won the American Revolution? What would happen to the country, the people? Connor and Clara live in a world of hunger, cold and poverty. The Crown, and behind them, the Templars, tell them what to do, where to go, how to live. When two eagles are locked up in a cage, they will fight to be free. And Connor and Clara will fight until the end.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello there!  
This is my second fanfic. It's Connor\OC and it's a sequel to my first story, Rain. If you haven't read that, you probably should because half the story probably won't make sense. If you have read it, thank you! A big shoutout and thanks to Shadow Katakura, who suggested the title to me! Anyway, I hope you guys like this chapter!**

The sun is close to setting, and the homestead seems to glow in the light. The forest around me seems to be alive; the birds call and sing, and there is game in there for those who have the patience to find it.

Connor and I raise our fists, and run at each other. The waves crash against the bluff beside us, and we begin to spar. Connor has the advantage of strength and height, but I'm small and agile.

We spar against each other until we're both sore and tired. The sun is low in the sky, and it sends rays of brilliant orange and red across the sky. We walk back to the house, hands brushing, and as we enter Connor suddenly pulls me closer to him.

"Ratohnhnaké:ton!" I exclaim, laughing. "Let me go."

"No." Connor replies, pressing his lips to mine. I try to answer back, but I can't do it. We make it as far as the couch.

"There _is _a bed upstairs..." I mutter as we fall onto the couch.

Connor smiles, and the sun goes down.

I suddenly hear a knock at the door. I try to get up, but Connor keeps his hold on me.

"I have to get the door!" I say.

"Leave it. How important could it be?" Connor asks.

"Your father could be back from the dead." I reply, smiling.

Connor laughs and lets me go. I try and smooth out my hair. I open the door to see a messenger standing there.

"Can I help you?" I ask politely.

"I have a message from Stephane Chapheau to Connor and Clara Kenway." The messenger says.

"I'm Clara." I say.

"Mr Chapheau wants you to go to his house in Boston as soon as possible." The messenger says.

I raise my eyebrows. "Thank you." I say to the messenger. I flip him a coin and close the door, turning around thoughtfully.

"What is it?" Connor asks as he enters the hallway.

"Stephane wants us in Boston as soon as possible." I reply, thinking hard. What could be so important?

Connor raises his eyebrows. "We leave tomorrow morning." He says.

I nod, and head down into the basement. I'm not really sure what I'm looking for, and I'm certain I won't find anything. I just wander around and look around. Connor follows me down after a while.

"What are you looking for?" Connor asks.

"I don't know." I say.

Connor approaches me, and I recognise that look on his face.

"You only think about one thing, don't you?" I ask, giggling as Connor pulls me in again.

"I do not." Connor says indignantly.

**~C~**

I wake up abruptly. For a moment, I wonder why I've woken up, but then I know the answer.

"No..." Connor says loudly. He moves around in his sleep, restless. I sit up and put a hand on Connor's chest.

"Ratohnhnaké:ton, wake up." I say.

Connor doesn't respond; he is completely inside his head. He continues to mutter and move around.

"Connor!" I say, louder.

He stops moving and muttering, and his eyes slowly open.

"You were having a bad dream again." I say to him.

"Did I wake you?" Connor asks, concerned.

"It doesn't matter." I say.

"I am sorry." Connor replies.

I look over at Connor. I lie down again, using his chest as a pillow. "What did you dream about?" I ask.

"Charles Lee again. And you." Connor replies.

"Me? Am I that horrible?" I ask, faking distress.

Connor laughs quietly. "You died." He says, suddenly sombre.

"Oh." I say quietly. "And that gave you nightmares?"

"Yes. I couldn't get to you in time, and Lee killed you." Connor replies.

I look up at Connor. "Well, don't worry. I'm not going anywhere until I'm an old woman." I say.

Connor kisses my head. "Konnorónhkwa." He says.

"You're having bad dreams less often now, aren't you?" I ask.

"Yes." Connor replies.

I look up at Connor and plant a kiss on his jaw. Connor touches his hand to my cheek and we part. I lie down on Connor's chest again, feeling the large scar he acquired while chasing Charles Lee.

I sigh. "Goodnight." I say quietly.

"Goodnight." Connor replies.

We lie there for a while until we eventually slip into our dreams once again. Connor sleeps peacefully, as do I.

**~C~**

Connor and I leave our horses outside Boston and walk along the street. It seems more empty than when I was last here, but I'm sure it's just my imagination. We soon reach Stephane's house, and seconds after I knock Stephane opens the door, looking fearful. He pulls us inside quickly.

"Stephane, what is it?" Connor asks.

"We need your help." Stephane says.

"Who?" I ask.

"The Patriots." Stephane replies.

"Why? I thought we'd almost won." I say.

"We had. But the Crown has sent more soldiers. Thousands more. They're sending more troops, more weapons, more supplies. It's not looking good." Stephane says.

My heart goes cold with dread. If the Crown wins the war, I can barely imagine what could happen to America. I dread to think.

"What do you need?" I ask.

"A miracle, mademoiselle." Stephane replies. "Part of the reason I called you here is that you need to get out of here. The Crown will win, I'm sure of it. We cannot fight their armies anymore. With the Crown in control, and the Templars behind them, we will be hunted down."

"We can still fight-" Connor says strongly. He is cut off by Stephane.

"The time for words is over. The Patriots will lose this war, and unless you can summon the Gods to help us, we will die." Stephane says gravely.

Stephane hates the Crown more than most. He is a loyal patriot, and I know he wouldn't say these things unless he was certain they are going to come true.

"Well, what can we do? I refuse to go hide in a hole for the rest of my life." I say.

"Unfortunately, I fear it is exactly that which we must do." Stephane replies.

**~C~**

Connor and I exit Stephane's house. My mind buzzes with questions, and I feel numb.

"What can we do?" I ask quietly.

"We must fight back." Connor exclaims just as softly.

"Didn't you listen to Stephane? The Crown will win this war, and the two of us won't be able to change that!" I say.

"But we can't allow the Templars to take control!" Connor exclaims.

"No, we can't." I agree.

Connor and I head back to our horses, and we gallop off into the woods. My mind comes up with plans to drive back the crown, each more ridiculous and unachievable as the next.

We cannot allow the Crown to take America, but we can't do anything on our own. For something like this, we'd need a miracle.

**~C~**

**4 MONTHS LATER**

_Connor and I sit in front of the fire, happy and warm. I hear a knock on the door, so I stand up and open it._

_Standing there are 5 guards. _

"_Connor!" I shout._

_He comes running to the door. The leader of the guards begins to speak._

"_By order of the British Crown, this house is now the property of the Crown. Either come peacefully or we will be forced to use violence." The guard says loudly._

_Connor and I look at each other. We both walk forwards slowly, and as we reach the guards we simultaneously flick out our hidden blades. A fight begins._

_I take out one guard before something hard is slammed into my head. I fall to the ground, vision fuzzy, and see the same thing happen to Connor. We are taken out of the house, and then my vision fades._

I wake up with a start, cold and tired despite having just woken up. I look over at Connor, who sleeps on, also looking cold. I sit up and look around the room.

A lot has changed in the past two months. As Stephane predicted, the Crown won the war. Soon after they won, the thousands of British troops were sent to work rounding everyone up from the countryside and taking them back to the closest city. At first, people resisted. They were hanged. Now, anyone who puts a toe out of line is either thrown in prison or for worse offences, killed. Publicly.

Connor's people; all put to work in farms and other physically demanding jobs. I know how awful Connor feels; every day, being forced to wear the result of the slavery of his people. I feel almost as bad as him, but we are incapable of doing anything to help them; to do so would mean death. The only reason Connor isn't with them is because his skin is just light enough. Everyone in the city had to pass a skin inspection; if you were too dark, you were sent to work in the fields.

Connor and I now live in the top floor of what was once someone's house in Boston. We share the floor with two other people, and the floor below us is also occupied with four people. We mostly keep to ourselves. Our uniforms were confiscated by the Crown. I managed to keep my hidden blade, secretly, and Connor kept his tomahawk hidden.

"Clara? What are you doing up?" Connor asks tiredly.

I turn around to see him rub his eyes.

"I just had a dream. That's all. Go back to sleep." I say.

"It's almost time for inspection." Connor replies.

Inspection. That's a nice word.

What they really mean is "If anything is out of order, you're shot dead on the spot."

Connor and I look each other over, trying to look presentable. I glance out the window, checking if the guards are coming yet. I can see footprints left in the snow, but they haven't reached us yet.

This is how the Templars like it. Orderly, with everyone under control. They have peace, but only because if you throw a punch they throw you in jail.

I hear the door open downstairs, and my heart quickens. Even though this happens every day, it never fails to make me nervous. I glance up at the roof. Our weapons are stashed behind a wooden panel, and I make sure it's secure. I hear footsteps on the stairs, and my hand brushes Connor's. I miss the days where the only danger was fighting. When we could do what we wanted. Now, we have to do whatever the Crown tells us or we die. It's that simple.

The door in front of us is opened, and in strut two guards. They approach us and look at us, up and down, inspecting us.

"Okay, savage? Is the room to your liking?" One of them mocks.

Connor and I stay completely silent. We don't even move.

"Oi! Don' you speak English? Answer 'im!" The other exclaims.

Connor stays silent. If he responds, the guard will beat him up. If Connor fights back, he'll be hanged. On the other hand, if he doesn't respond, he'll be beaten up as well. Trapped.

The guards make sounds of amusement as they throw Connor on the floor. They hit him with the ends of their guns a few times, and I stay completely still, pretending it isn't happening. When the guards finish with Connor, he stays on the floor. One of them grabs my behind as they leave the room, but I don't react.

When the door closes, I immediately fall to my knees beside Connor.

"I'm so sorry, Ratohnhnaké:ton!" I exclaim.

He sits up, groaning slightly, and I see the full extent of the damage. His nose is bleeding, and there is a large bruise forming on his cheek. I lift up his shirt and jacket to see purple bruises sprouting up from his ribs, and when I poke them Connor winces. I help him up, and we walk outside, Connor leaning on me slightly. We walk to the market that's on every day. The prices are high, all thanks to the Crown, but it's the only way you can get food these days.

I walk up to a stall and buy half a loaf of bread, returning to Connor with it. We walk away from the stalls and into a garden to eat. The snow is thicker here, and it's cold away from the crowds, but there's always a chance someone will try and take your food if you eat in public. Connor and I finish the bread, and then we exit the garden again. I still almost can't believe it's gotten this bad. The Crown made someone called Reginald Birch in charge of running the country. He's a Templar, that much is obvious. The only reason the British still have an interest in this godforsaken place is the farming; we provide a majority of their food.

I remember a speech given at the start of this whole thing, given by Birch himself. He said we should all be equal and have the same amount of food and possessions as each other; most didn't that some would be more equal than others. These days, the rich live in large homes with plenty of food and the rest of us are left to starve, or secretly fight for our food.

As Connor and I walk along, someone bumps into us. I realize after a second it's Sam Adams, but we don't dare stop and talk. It would be too suspicious. He was a known Patriot, so anyone caught talking with him is immediately a suspect in whatever lie the guards tell.

Connor and I keep walking around Boston for a while. I shove my hands in my pockets, trying to warm them up, when I feel a piece of paper in one of them. My eyes widen, and I grab Connor's arm.

"We need to get back home. Now." I say to Connor. He understands my tone and we quickly head back. As soon as the door is closed and the curtains drawn, I pull the note out of my pocket. Connor sees it and his eyes widen.

"What is it?" He asks.

I open the note, and scrawled in untidy handwriting are a few sentences.

_Meeting tonight. My house, 1:00. Destroy this after reading. – S_

I read the note, over and over again until it's imprinted into my head. I hand the note to Connor, who reads it several times. I turn to him, beaming.

"Do you know what this means?" I ask quietly, paranoid of being overheard.

Connor nods and smiles. He pulls me into a tight hug and we exchange a long, happy kiss.

"1:00. Past curfew." Connor says as we part.

"We'll have to be extra careful, then, won't we?" I ask.

**This was a really long chapter! Anyway, I hope you liked it, and if you did, why not follow, favourite and review? Once I get 5 reviews I'll post the next chapter, because I want to know if you guys liked this! So, let me know whether I should keep going with this fanfic or not! From Jenna.**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Connor and I look out the window again, watching the guards. We have our weapons out in anticipation of the upcoming meeting. I pull out the stolen watch from my pocket. It's 12:45.

"Let's go." I whisper to Connor.

He nods, and we pull on our jackets. I stitched hoods onto them, for old time's sake. We pull up each other's hoods, and I remember our wedding day.

I can't remember being that happy for months. In fact, even being happy was a memory until earlier today.

Connor and I silently exit our room. We creep down the stairs and out the back door. We don't step one foot into the garden; we take the rooftops. They are so sloped the snow just slides off them, so our footprints can't be seen. From there, we make our way to Sam's house. He lives alone, in isolation, which would usually be quite lonely, but tonight it's a huge benefit. We climb down from the roof of his house and to the back door. I knock softly but clearly, and I see Sam pull back the curtains ever so slightly. When he sees it's us, he hurries to open the door.

It's very warm in here, despite the lack of a fire; Sam must have put it out at curfew. As soon as we're inside, Sam closes the door.

"You're the last to arrive." He says quietly.

"The last? Who else was invited..." I trail off as I see a surprising amount of people in the living room of Sam's house.

Stephane Chapheau. William Monieux. And about ten other people have amassed into Sam's house – all without the guards knowing about it. I feel a strong sense of pride that people would be brave and dedicated enough to risk being caught.

"Alright, now that everyone's here, we can start. The reason I called you all here is because-" Sam begins to say in a low voice.

"I think we know why we're here, Sammy boy." One of the men says, cutting him off. I grin; never heard Sam referred to as "Sammy boy" before.

Sam raises an eyebrow at the man before continuing. "Well, as Richard pointed out, it's probably fairly obvious why we're here. We need to fight back." He says.

"How can we do that? If we step one toe out of line, we're dead." I say.

Everyone looks at me, almost as if I've killed their good mood or something.

"I'm not saying we don't do something, I just think we need to be smart about it. We don't fight back – we... prod back." I say.

"Clara has a point. You people are the only ones I trust enough to invite here tonight. I have no doubt that almost everyone in Boston feels the same way as us, but we need to be logical about this. So, does anyone have any suggestions of what our first move is?" Sam asks.

Everyone stays silent. Then, after a while, someone speaks.

"We kill the guards. In the middle of the night, we go out with weapons and kill some guards. Let people know that someone's fighting back. If we can do it undetected, the guards can't do anything. They can't punish the whole city."

"That's smart. It gets rid of guards and sends a message." Sam says.

"We don't have weapons." Someone points out.

"I do. Connor does." I say. I hold up my wrist which has the hidden blade strapped to it, and I flick my wrist. The blade comes out. Everyone oohs and aahs, and a few look at me jealously.

"And you don't even need weapons. A rock to the head can do just as much damage as a knife." I say.

"We should have a name." Someone says.

Everyone is silent for a moment, but then I have an idea. I pull on Connor's sleeve, and he leans down towards me. In his ear, I whisper my idea. Connor looks at me but nods.

"The Assassins." I say.

Everyone seems to agree, and Sam nods. "We should go. If anyone sees a guard on their way home, you know what to do. We should meet up again, tomorrow night, same time, right here." He says.

We all exit Sam's house through the back door, one by one, so it's easier to remain undetected. Connor and I are the first to leave, and as we return home I see a guard a few rooftops away. I look at Connor, and he gestures for me to have the honour. I sneak up behind the guard and just as he turns around I plunge my hidden blade deep into his neck. He dies instantly.

I've never felt good about killing someone. Always neutral. But this time, as one of the people who causes so much trouble falls to my feet, I can't help but feel proud and satisfied. I leave his body on the roof, and Connor and I return to our building, careful not to land on the snow when we jump down. We enter the house silently, and as we creep upstairs I feel jittery and excited. Connor and I enter our room.

It's barely furnished – a bed and an empty dresser are the only things in the room. As soon as the door is closed, Connor and I turn to each other. I smile delightedly; for the first time in months, we're doing something. We're fighting back.

Connor pulls me into his arms and we exchange a long kiss. We fall back onto the bed, and Connor's shirt ends up on the floor.

**~C~**

Connor and I wake up to the door creaking open downstairs. I pull out the watch from my pocket and see that it's inspection time. Connor and I leap out of bed, quickly dressing and then I realize our weapons are lying on the floor next to the bed. I quickly snatch them up and look around for anywhere to put them, and in desperation I open the window and place them on the ledge outside, out of sight unless you stick your head outside. Connor and I look each other over hurriedly and just as the door opens we spin around to greet the guards. Unfortunately, the same guards as yesterday are still assigned to our house. They look at Connor snidely.

"Recovered, then, 'ave we?" One of them jeers to Connor. "Well, aren' you gonna answer?"

Connor looks at the guard right in the eye, which is a mistake anyway, but then he makes it worse. He says something in his native language, and while I don't understand, I'm certain it's not a message of respect.

"Speak English, savage!" The guard exclaims.

Connor looks at him quizzically.

"He can't! He doesn't speak English!" I exclaim, saving Connor from another beating.

The guard looks at me, annoyed. "He your pet, then? Is tha' it? You whore."

I don't answer, so the guard swings the butt of his gun into my stomach. I double over, clutching my stomach, and the guards leave while cackling with laughter. As soon as the door closes, Connor bends down to my level and holds my arms

"Are you alright?" Connor asks, concerned.

I cough once before replying. "I'm fine..."

Connor and I stand upright and he gives me a kiss. I go to the window, open it and retrieve our weapons before replacing them in the roof. We both leave the building, and then we hear a shout.

"Who did this?" A guard roars. His voice comes from a few streets away; he's undoubtedly found the guard I killed last night. Connor and I speed up, not wanting to be in the area when the guards come looking for whoever's responsible.

Connor and I spend the entire day at the market, lost in the crowd, avoiding the guards. I can't help but feel proud – we're finally fighting back.

**Hello!  
Thanks for reading, and I really hope you liked this chapter! It's a lot shorter than the previous chapter, because that one was really long. Anyway, follow and favourite if you enjoyed, and I'll publish the next chapter after 5 reviews! From Jenna.**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

**~C~**

Sam Adams lets us into his house once more. We re-enter the living room, but no one is there.

"Where is everyone?" I ask.

"I told them not to come. Tonight, there's something you need to do. It's dangerous, I'm not going to lie. But it could benefit us greatly." Sam says.

"What is it?" Connor asks.

"Olivia?" Sam calls quietly.

From around the corner steps a girl.

She can't be older than 14. She has light brown hair, which is tied up in a low, messy ponytail. She has large, bright hazel eyes. The corners of her mouth are slightly upturned, giving her a cocky, confident air. At the first glance, I like her.

She is dressed in the same strange, stretchy black pants as me. Her jacket is black and thin, and underneath is a red tartan shirt. She has a grey top under that. Her boots are short and brown, also like mine.

"Show them what you can do." Sam says.

Olivia steps forward and draws a knife from her belt. She approaches me, grabs my hand and looks up at me, asking for permission. I nod cautiously.

Olivia takes the tip of her knife and makes a tiny cut on my finger. It bleeds slightly. She then returns the knife to her belt and grabs my hand in both of hers, squeezing tightly. She stares at my cut, and suddenly my finger starts to itch and tickle uncomfortably. The cut looks as if it's healing, but at an exceptional rate. Days of healing takes place before my very eyes, all in a matter of seconds. When the cut is completely gone, Olivia holds up her own finger and I see an identical cut there.

Connor and I stare at her in shocked silence.

"...How did you do that?" I ask her quietly.

Olivia smiles at me mysteriously.

"She has power. That much is obvious. I need you to get her to New York; the Templar influence is much weaker there. From there, a man called James Butterfield will tell you where to go next." Sam says.

Olivia suddenly looks angry. Honestly, I'm a little irritated as well.

"What? No way! I'm not going anywhere without you!" Olivia exclaims to Sam. She has an American accent.

"Olivia, do you want to help or not? Besides, I can't take you. I don't have half the skill these two have." Sam says.

"We can't take care of her, Sam!" I exclaim.

"Clara, please. The people need you and Connor." Sam begs.

I sigh exasperatedly, but nod.

Olivia still looks unpleased at the situation.

"How do you know about New York? And my brother?" I ask, trying to change the topic.

"James first sent me a bird a few weeks ago. Said the Templars were weaker in New York than from what he'd heard about Boston. He said he was the brother of Clara Butterfield, and that she was an Assassin. He asked if there was anything he could do to help in Boston." Sam says. "Last week, I found Olivia. She'd fallen over and scraped her knees, and then she pretended to bump into me. When I looked down you can imagine my surprise. So I took her home with me, and I wrote to James immediately. Long story short, he'll meet you in 3 days with a horse and tell you where to go."

"How are we supposed to get out of Boston? It is impossible." Connor says, folding his arms.

"The tunnels." Sam replies.

"I thought they were filled in." I say.

"Not all of them." Sam says, smiling.

Suddenly I hear a loud thumping at the door.

"By order of the British Crown, open this door!" A guard shouts.

Sam looks at us with dread. "Go!" He exclaims quietly.

Connor and I hesitate for a second, and as the door thumps again we suddenly run out of the room. We exit Sam's house by the backdoor, and suddenly I wonder what we're going to do about Olivia. Surely she can't climb. I turn around to see the girl run up the wall and grab a windowsill.

Well, this certainly makes things easier.

Connor and I run up after her, and we hear the door of Sam's house slam open. I try to ignore the distracting sounds as Connor and I lead Olivia back to our house. We enter the backdoor and quietly enter out room again. As the door closes, I bend down and put my hands on my knees, breathing hard.

"Why did you leave him there?" Olivia exclaims quietly.

"He told us to go. Besides, he's alone in his house now. If we'd been found with him, all four of us would have been killed. He has a chance." I say.

Suddenly I hear a thumping on our door. A guard storms in and we hear him shout through the house.

"From this moment, by order of the Crown, anyone found outside their houses at night will be shot on sight. If any house has more people than their allotted residents, everyone in the house will be shot on sight." He shouts.

I look at Connor with dread, approaching him quickly.

"We need to get Olivia out of here. If we're found with her we'll die!" I exclaim quietly.

"No. I'll take her. You stay in Boston. It's safer." Connor says.

"No! Dangerous or not, I'm coming with you!" I exclaim.

Connor has a point. It is safer in Boston. There's less risk of getting shot and dying; unpleasant things to say the least. Still, I'll not abandon him.

Connor lets out a frustrated noise, but seems to drop the argument. I turn to Olivia and I bend down, and suddenly an intense pain strikes me in the back of the head. I fall to the ground and everything goes black.

**~C~**

"We need to get Olivia out of here. If we're found with her we'll die!" Clara exclaimed.

"No. I'll take her. You stay in Boston. It's safer." Connor said.

"No! Dangerous or not, I'm coming with you!" Clara said strongly.

Connor couldn't have that. He knew he had to prevent his wife from coming, and the only way he could think of was the option he'd prefer not to take. But he had no choice.

Clara turned to face the child. Connor took the hilt of his tomahawk and, hating himself, he slammed it into the back of Clara's head.

Olivia stared up at Connor, shocked.

"Why did you do that?" She exclaimed.

Connor ignored her comment. He picked up a scrap of paper and a quill from their almost empty dresser, and began to write. When he finished the note, he folded it up and placed it in Clara's hand. He replaced the tomahawk on his belt and, Olivia behind him, he exited their house. He knew the girl could climb, so he pulled himself to the top of the fence in their yard and walked along it until they reached the entrance to the tunnels on the other side of the yard. He entered the tunnel with Olivia at his heels and led her to the end of it. Many of the tunnels were filled in, but Connor knew them like the back of his hand, eventually finding a way out. He cautiously opened the trapdoor to the street above and saw it occupied with about 10 guards. He ducked back into the tunnel with Olivia.

"What now?" She asked.

Connor thought for a second, then spoke. "We run through. All the other tunnels are blocked. There is no other option."

"What? That's crazy!" Olivia exclaimed quietly.

"We have no choice! I will not turn back!" Connor replied angrily.

Olivia glared at him, but didn't argue further.

Connor opened the tunnel slightly again, and looked back at Olivia.

"Follow me." He whispered.

Connor slid out from the tunnel, as did Olivia. They crouched against the wall, but after a few seconds they were seen. Connor sprinted along the wall, as did Olivia. She was surprisingly fast; not as much as Connor but enough that she could dodge the bullets if she tried.

Connor and Olivia ducked into an alleyway. The bullets bounced off the wall of the alleyway, but luckily none hit the two of them. Connor took a breath, and then sprinted out of the alley with Olivia at his heels. As they were nearly out of Boston, a lucky bullet hit the side of Connor's arm. He grunted in pain as the exposed flesh burned with pain but he forced himself onwards. He and Olivia reached a large hill; at the top was a safe haven, the forest.

Connor led Olivia up the hill, barely managing to avoid the bullets that still flew at them. Connor reached the top of the hill and saw that Olivia was still running. Connor saw more soldiers round a corner and raise their guns at the hill, so he ran out of the cover of the forest and lifted the girl up, running back into the woods. As they reached the safety of the trees, Connor put the girl down and covered her from the bullets. They continued to run through the forest, one thought running through both of their brains;

_Get away._

**Let me know what you thought of that chapter in the reviews! Follow and favourite if you enjoyed, and I'll see you guys after 5 reviews. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys!  
Welcome to chapter 4 of Tides of a Revolution. I had some comments that my fanfic was a lot like the Last of Us (an awesome video game!). And even though it is a good game, and I got the idea of Olivia from it, I don't want to copy the game. I've tried to make it as different as possible, but let me know if it's still similar, and even leave a suggestion about how I could make it different!  
Anyway, here it is, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**CHAPTER 4**

**~O~**

The man and I run through the trees, my heart pounding. I honestly can't believe we survived that. My short legs struggle to keep up with the man, who is probably the tallest man I've ever met. His skin is dark, as is his hair. It's a little shorter than his shoulders, and half of it is tied back into a braid. My parents always taught me that it doesn't matter what colour your skin is, but other people have different views.

As the hour wears on, I begin to tire. The man looks as if he could run all night, but I'm only a child. I begin to slow slightly.

"Hey... can we stop?" I ask him, panting.

The man stops running and turns around. He appears to stop and think for a while, before nodding. "We cannot build a fire; it will be too easily seen."

"Fine." I say. I'm used to being cold.

The man sits down on a fallen log, and even though he shows no emotion, I'm guessing he's pretty broken up about that girl back in Boston.

"Where are your parents?" The man asks.

"They died." I say simply. It was years ago, and I was young. "What's your name?" I ask, changing the conversation.

"Connor." The man replies.

"Well, Connor... you know the way to New York?" I ask.

"Yes. I have one rule; do what I say, when I say. Do not ask why. Our survival may depend on it." Connor says.

"...Why did you even agree to this?" I ask.

"The people deserve freedom." Connor replies.

"But you could die! We could both die!" I exclaim.

Connor suddenly looks angry. He's a tall man, and with his dark skin and large muscles he scares me.

"Do you think me foolish? Or simple? I know we could die. But I am doing this for the people and for my wife! She is still stuck in Boston, under constant threat of death! So do not lecture me about risks; I know them better than you ever could." Connor says angrily.

"Did you know there are bandits? Raiders?" I ask angrily.

This takes him by surprise. "What do you mean? Everyone's in the cities."

"People escaped capture. They set out to survive in the wild. The soldiers pretend they don't exist so that people in the cities think there's no hope." I say.

"How do you know this?" Connor asks.

"I just know, okay?" I reply quickly. No need to tell him about my adventure a few months ago.

"We need to get some sleep." He says, still looking angry. "Come. We need to keep warm."

I look at him cautiously, warily.

"I will not hurt you. Come here." He repeats impatiently.

I approach him slowly as he brushes away the majority of the snow next to the log and lies down next to it. He lies down and faces the log, and I lie down next to him, facing out to the forest. I curl up slightly, and use my arm as a pillow.

**~C~**

I wake up to a throbbing in my head. For a moment I wonder what's happened. I sit up slowly, before noticing a note in my hand. I open it and immediately recognise Connor's handwriting.

_Clara,  
Please forgive me. I did not want to do what I did, but there was no other choice. I couldn't stand it if you were hurt because of me.  
Please be safe. Do not do anything reckless. Keep your head. Do not come looking for us; you'll never find us and you'd only get shot.  
I love you. Please, be safe. I am sorry.  
Connor._

I stare at the note. That bastard!

I hear a knock on the door, and I stuff the note down one of my boots and stand upright just as a guard enters.

"Rich woman wanted you to 'ave this note. Count yerself lucky." He says, handing me a note. I take it from him and as soon as he leaves the room I open the note.

_Clara,  
This is your mother. I know all about your friend's little "adventure" last night. I wanted you to know that you'd be dead now if it weren't for me. Do not make me regret my decision._

My eyes widen as I read the note. My mother... has done me a favour. Why? What will she want in return? She'll definitely want something; that's the only thing I'm sure about.

I look down at myself. My jacket, grey and thick, with a hood sewn onto it, is crushed from my night of bad sleep. Beneath it, a simple white shirt offers little protection against the cold. The black stretchy pants I wear reveals my figure, a small trick designed by the Templars to itemize women. We don't wear skirts or dresses anymore, unless you're rich; we wear pants. I certainly don't complain, but others did. Before they were killed. Anyway, at least these pants are easy to move around in.

I look outside. I can see people flocking towards the direction of the market, and I know nothing good can come of this. I exit my house, feeling odd without Connor by my side. I follow the crowd to the market; but now it's not a market.

Gallows. That's what's replaced the stalls. The almost cheery atmosphere. The stallkeepers shouting at everyone to buy their products.

And standing on the gallows with a noose around his neck is none other than Samuel Adams.

I see him standing there, and everyone else just stares. No one tries to help; for that would mean death for them as well.

Suddenly, a man steps forwards. He is dressed in very rich clothes, and he carries himself with an important air. He raises his voice.

"Attention! Attention!" He calls loudly.

Everyone who wasn't already looking now turns to see the rich man.

"This man was found to be guilty conspiring against the Crown. He offers no reason why he would seek to destroy the very force that keep you all safe. He is a traitor to the city, his country, and the Crown!" Exclaims the rich man.

"It is you who is the traitor!" Sam calls bravely.

The whispering stops immediately. Everyone gapes, open mouthed, at the man who has dared to bad-mouth the crown. His bravery inspires me to do something as well.

I let out a long, loud, mournful whistle. Sam sees who does it, but doesn't look my way.

I hear a few people exclaim out as they are pushed aside by guards. My heart drums in fear as they approach me, but I keep my head to the front. I am seized by the guards, and they drag me out of the crowd. I let out half another whistle before one of the guards slams his fist into my stomach.

The people follow me and Sam's lead. One by one, tentative whistles are let out and everyone keeps their eyes on Sam. Inside, my emotions are a mixture of grief and pride. Outside, I am completely emotionless as I am dragged out of sight of the crowd. My last view of the crowd sees Sam going down. He meets his death.

I'm about to follow him.

The guards drag me to an alleyway, and they hold me against the wall. After months of hunger and not practicing my skills, I have no chance against them.

The guards pound me. My whole body hurts. It feels as though they've reduced me into the size of a child. When they're finished, they leave me in the alleyway. I have no strength left. I cannot move.

They have left me here to die.

I feel arms lifting me. They drag me away, to where I don't know. All I know is that surely it's the guards, come to finish me off.

**So let me know how that chapter was! Let me know if it was still too much like the Last of Us, and I'll see you after 5 reviews**


	5. Chapter 5

**I hope you guys like this chapter of Tides of a Revolution! Also, I want to thank Zelink005 for the great suggestions about how to change my fanfic! The review was really helpful! And I also want to thank Assassin's ****Grrrrl for giving me a shoutout on her fanfic, Hunted. It's really good, so you guys should check it out! Anyway, on with the story!**

**CHAPTER 5**

**~O~**

_I wake up in the forest, except everything seems to be frozen; still. A bird that flies in mid-air has stopped, and is just hanging there. I look down and see myself and Connor still sleeping. As if I am a ghost._

_I hear a noise behind me, and as I spin around I see a woman. She is dressed very strangely, with a simple white dress that covers her feet and a white veil – as if she were a bride, but is clearly not one._

"_Who are you?" I ask suspiciously._

"_I am Juno." The woman replies simply._

"_Okay... And what's happened?" I ask, referring to the frozen world around me._

"_The One Before You had the same question. Who are you? Where am I? What do you want?" Juno says dreamily._

"_You're not making any sense. Who came before me?" I ask, confused._

"_It does not matter. The important thing is you must make it to the Patriots." Juno says importantly. "Your gifts are vital to them."_

"_My gifts?" I ask. "What do you know about them?" _

"_Only that they are from myself. And that they are designed to help you win this fight." Juno says._

"_Wait, what? Do you mean I'm gonna have to fight in the war?" I ask incredulously. "No way. I'm only 13!" _

"_You must. Someone has tampered with the timeline. This was not supposed to happen." Juno says._

"_How do you know? What do you want?" I ask, frustrated._

"_I have said all I will say." Juno says._

I wake up next to Connor. The tip of my nose is cold, but the rest of me is relatively warm. At least, as warm as one can be in this weather. I am still shaken by my dream, but I decide not to tell Connor – he'd probably just think I'm crazy. I sit up and shake Connor.

"Hey! Wake up!" I say.

Connor grumbles and rolls over. I shake him again!

"We gotta wake up!" I exclaim.

Connor opens his eyes and sees me sitting there. He stands up and stretches slightly.

"Let's go." I say.

Connor raises his eyebrow at me, but we set off. After a while, I break the silence.

"Why aren't you in the fields?" I ask as we walk at a steady pace.

Connor glares at me.

"What?" I ask innocently. "It was only a question. I didn't mean to be rude."

He turns to the front again. "My father was British. I was just light enough to escape working there."

"Oh." I say conversationally. "How old are you?"

"I am 19. Have you any more questions?" Connor asks, slightly rudely.

19? He seems much older. "Yes, I have a few more." I say, pretending I didn't notice his tone. "I'm 13... Where did you live before the Occupation?" I ask.

"The Occupation?" Connor asks.

"When the Crown came." I clarify.

"I have not heard that expression before... I lived with my wife in the country." Connor says.

"Is your wife that woman we were with in Boston?"

"Yes. Her name is Clara."

"Clara. That's a pretty name... So, how did the British get you?" I ask.

Connor looks at me.

"I am not sure you should hear. You are a child." He says.

"I've experienced my fair share of violence. I can stand a story." I say dismissively.

Connor looks at me doubtfully. "What happened to you?" He asks, trace amounts of curiosity in his voice.

I smile. This is quite a story.

**~O~**

I run along the streets of Boston, a broad smile on my face.

To my seven-year-old mind, the streets are friendly and open. The smells emanating from the shops and the market fill my nose with thoughts of baking bread and the lunch that awaits me when I get home. The sights of men and women, walking through the streets, happy and smiling seem to mould to my mood. When I'm happy, everyone seems happy. Even the sun seems to kiss everything it touches, lighting it up with a polite "How do you do?"

I arrive home. My mother, Rose, seems to be the most beautiful woman in the world. Her deep red hair, the same colour as the beautiful flower for which she's named, flows down her back in a long braid. She smiles lovingly at me and I run into her arms.

"Mama, look what I found!" I exclaim.

"What is it?" She asks eagerly, seeming genuinely fascinated by my small wonder.

I pull the lovely locket from my pocket. It's a beautiful thing, silver with a triangular engraving. The detail is exquisite.

My mother's eyes widen at the pretty jewellery. "You have the eyes of an eagle, Olivia!" She exclaims.

"No, I don't!" I shout. "These are the eyes of a girl! Silly mama!"

My mother laughs, a tinkling and beautiful sound. "May I see it?" She asks, holding her hands out for the jewellery.a

I nod and hand it to her. She studies the engravings and for a fraction of a second her eyes look shocked as she sees the triangular shape.

"You keep it, Mama!" I exclaim.

"Very well, little one." She replies. Her smile is happy, but there is something behind it.

I run inside. My father, Jonathan, looks up and sees me run inside. He is a tall man, with a short, light brown beard. His muscles are powerful, and t those who do not know him he is an intimidating figure. To me, he is a great big baby.

"Papa! I found something! Show him, mama!" I exclaim as my mother walks inside.

She shows my father the necklace. I bob up and down on my feet, excited for my papa to see the pretty discovery. He sees it and his eyes widen as well, but he passes it off as pride.

"We have a little adventurer here. Soon, she'll be off exploring the forest and getting up to no good!" My father exclaims.

"No, I shall become a princess!" I exclaim. "And I shall have a castle and a handsome prince to rule my kingdom!"

And with that I set about creating my small kingdom. Papa is the head knight, and Mama is the head cook. Inside my imagination, a dragon comes and attacks our small castle, when in reality it is simply an eagle. A room turns into a huge ballroom, a mouse into a bear. I rule my kingdom with kindness at first, but I am soon bored with that and I promptly sentence all my subjects to death.

When nighttime arrives, it brings a whole new set of adventures with it. My mother calls me to dinner, or as I pretend, the Royal Feast. Our banquet is entertained by musicians and dancers. After our feast I begin to tire, and my mother puts me to bed. My dolls become loyal protectors that defend me from bad dreams, sent by the evil spirits inside my mind.

But they can't do anything in the real world.

I wake up in my small palace. There are no delicious smells coming from the Head Cook's kitchen. There is no loud laughter from the Head Knight. I walk downstairs elegantly, holding up my nightgown, which to me is a fabulous and beautiful gown. I see the Head Knight sitting in his chair.

"Knight, there is a dragon outside! Go and kill it at once!" I command loudly.

My knight ignores me.

"Knight!" I thunder. "Did you hear me? I said go and kill the dragon!"

I march to the front of my father. "Knight! Did you hear..."

My voice fades. I cannot do anything but stare. My father, my Head Knight stares past me, a vacant look in his eyes. Protruding from his chest is a metal blade, blood staining his shirt.

I hurry into the Head Cook's kitchen. She is nowhere to be seen. I run into the grand hall of my palace and it begins to shrink down to the small hallway of my Boston cottage, because my Head Cook, my mother, lies at the doorway, a pool of blood surrounding her. The necklace I gave her is in her hand. I can see her chest rise and fall faintly. I run over to her, my dress shrinking back into my nightgown. I fall to my knees beside my mother.

"Mama!" I exclaim, panicked, not knowing what's happening.

She slowly looks at me and with the last of her strength puts the necklace in my hand.

"...Love you..." She says faintly.

Her chest stops rising and falling.

"Mama! Wake up! I don't know what to do, Mama!" I exclaim, tears overflowing down my cheeks. "Mama, please wake up!"

**~O~**

I run along the streets of Boston, a fiercely happy expression on my face. The necklace with the strange symbol bounces on my chest. To my ten-year-old mind, Boston is now an unforgiving city. The smells are now of fish and the sea and smoke. The sights of the men and women walking down the street are now darker than before. They no longer look happy and without a care; now, everyone is a risk. Not to be trusted. Trust is risk. At least, strangers are risk. Best avoided.

I arrive home.

Well, home is a rather generous term for my setup. It is just a trapdoor that leads down to the tunnels running underneath Boston. My "home" is little more than a few blankets, a lantern and a small amount of stolen items. When my parents were killed, I had to rely on myself. Nobody cared about a small orphaned girl, and why should they? I'm nothing. They don't owe me anything, and I sure as hell don't owe them. As I said, best avoided. Unless their pockets are deep.

Then they're best followed and pick pocketed. Idiots.

I open the trapdoor and pull today's winnings out of my pockets. A few coins, a clean handkerchief. To most, these are meagre earnings.

But those few coins could buy something. Anything, if you're smart enough. That handkerchief could be sold or used for pretty much anything if you know what you're doing.

I place the coins underneath my blankets, paranoid. Even though no one's come down here for years, I still have a horrible fear that one day I'll come "home" and they'll be gone.

I head back out to the streets. Today, I'm feeling greedy. I look around for someone who seems rich. I wander the streets for a while before finding a man who looks... perfect. There's no other word for it.

He might as well be made of gold. The money I could make off one of his rings alone is ridiculous. I silently approach him from behind. This is a risk – the man is quite fat. His chest seems to almost tear his clothes apart. But the temptation is so bad, I can't resist. I extend my hand towards his belt, my target his pocket watch, and I achieve my goal. I walk away silently, pocketing the watch with glee as I walk home. There will be plenty of time to admire it later.

I arrive at the alleyway which I treat as my front yard. I hear footsteps and when I turn around I see a man. The same man who I stole the pocket watch from. He smiles evilly as he sees me. Before I know it, he's sprinted towards me with ridiculous speed and grabs me by the neck, holding me off the ground, against the alley wall. I can't breathe.

"I'll teach you to steal, you little bitch!" He growls. He slams his fist into my stomach before letting me drop to the ground. There, I cough, struggling to breathe. He swings his leg forwards and kicks me so hard that I fly back into the wall again. I hit my head on the brick, and I nearly lose consciousness. Almost. Perhaps that would be better, compared to the pain. The man continues to kick and hit me until I'm almost dead. Then the man grabs me by the neck and holds me to the ground.

"Have fun. Maybe, if you're lucky, you'll learn your lesson. If not, well..." The man says softly, and it's not a stretch to imagine what he might to.

Suddenly, as a strong pain flares up in my chest, I grab the man's arm and hold on tight, almost instinctively. The pain leaves my chest and the man, with his free hand, clutches his chest. He tries to throw off my hand but I can't let go, even if I wanted to.

As I continue to squeeze the man's arm, bruises on his face blossom like purple flowers. His nose begins to bleed. And he falls to the ground in pain. At the same time, the pain in my own body fades. Soon, I feel as though I could fly.

I stand up. The man lies in the alleyway, half dead, and I take a step back, wondering what the hell's just happened. I can't believe it. What have I done?

I start running back to my home. I notice, with happiness that I'll surely feel after the confusion has faded, that the pocket watch is still in my pocket. I almost fall through the trapdoor in my haste to get home. When I reach the blankets, I sit down on them and curl into a sitting position, hugging my knees.

I don't feel guilty, not at all. That bastard got what he had coming. I'm just _extremely_ confused.

**~O~**

Connor stares at me in stunned silence. We've been jogging all the while I've told my story, but Connor's stopped. I stop too.

"What?" I ask.

"That is a story." Connor admits.

One corner of my mouth raises in a small, amused smile. "Let's keep going. I want to get to New York." I say.

Connor nods distractedly, and we keep jogging. Lucky I can keep going pretty much all day because I don't think Connor would let me stop. He doesn't seem like the type to coo over children.

**So let me know what you guys thought of that chapter! Again, let me know how to make this different from the Last of Us, and I'll see you after 5 (or more) reviews!**

**P.s. do I use to many exclamation marks? I feel like I do...**


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

**~C~**

I wake up to an aching body. I'm lying on something soft, and I'm warm. I open my eyes.

I don't know where I am. I don't know who is sitting opposite me. And I don't know how I'm not dead.

The person sitting opposite me, a man who looks slightly older than me, sees that I'm awake. He moves closer to the bed.

"How do you feel?" He asks softly.

"Amazing." I reply sarcastically.

The man raises an eyebrow at me but smiles. "I'm Henry. And I'm going to help you."

"I'm Clara... where am I?" I ask.

"In my room. I found you in the alleyway, and I recognised you as the girl who whistled at Sam. I knew I had to help." Henry replies.

I am honestly impressed by this man's bravery. He could be killed for this.

"Thank you." I say honestly.

Henry has blue eyes and blonde hair. He's thin, like most people these days, but his muscles are defined.

"Ever since your... outburst a few days ago, the people have been different. They've been more resistant. Like a barrel of gunpowder. They're close to igniting." Henry says.

A smile crosses my face and I sit up. It hurts, but I ignore it.

"I think we have the same idea." I say.

Henry smiles broadly. His grin is cocky and confident, but has some sort of friendly charm to it as well.

**~O~**

The rain pours down heavily on our heads. Connor keeps walking through the forest, but I can't resist stomping in some of the puddles.

"Stop it. You'll get cold and we must continue." Connor says sternly.

"Let me have some fun!" I exclaim, leaping into another puddle. The water sprays up onto my pants.

"Stop! Now." Connor says angrily.

"Come on! When you were a kid, I bet you jumped in a few puddles." I reply.

"I did not." Connor replies.

"Oh, yes you did. You can't go through childhood without jumping in puddles." I say. Another spray of water wets my boots and pants.

"Olivia, if you do not stop, I will turn around and return to Boston." Connor threatens.

I pout. "Fine."

Connor raises his eyebrow at me, but we continue onwards. It's hard not to jump in a particularly large puddle, but I restrain myself. When you've had no fun for three days, you start to get a little desperate.

"D'you want to play a game?" I ask Connor.

"We have no time for games." Connor replies sternly.

"But I'm _bored_." I complain.

"We can play a game I know of." Connor suggests. "It is called the quiet game. Whoever can be quiet for the longest wins."

I roll my eyes at the Native. He isn't going to cave on this one.

"That wasn't even funny. That was just stupid." I criticize. Connor doesn't answer.

As night falls I can see lights in the distance.

"We are close. That is New York." Connor says.

I smile broadly – we're finally here. Connor and I walk along the road, and I suddenly realize how sore my feet are. The prospect of a bed and food that hasn't come from a tree is almost enough to make me sprint the rest of the distance to the city. Suddenly I hear footsteps and Connor drags me into the bushes. Two bandits walk along the road, but then a twig cracks under my boot loudly. The bandits stop, and turn around.

I have a feeling that if I sprinted out of the bushes now, I could kill them before they even knew I was there. It's more than a feeling – I almost know.

So I dash out of the bushes and draw out my knife. It's long, and very sharp. I stab the first bandit in the throat and as the second guard draws his sword, he swings it to my right – and I know he's going to do it before he decides it himself. I dodge to the side and thrust my knife into his side. He lets out a groan of pain and I leap onto him, knocking him over and stabbing him through his temple. He dies instantly.

I stand up, blood on my shirt and the two guards at my feet. I've killed before, and I honestly don't have a problem with it. These two were Raiders. Working for themselves, and out to kill. Bastards.

Connor runs out from the bushes.

"Why did you do that?" He asks loudly, angrily.

"They were going to find us!" I reply.

"You cannot kill people!" Connor exclaims.

"They were going to kill us!" I shout.

"You don't know that! They were living people. They may have had families! Did you think of that?"

"I was thinking of myself! If someone's going to kill me, I don't stand back and let them do it, just because they're a person as well! They are trying to _kill _me!" I exclaim.

Connor approaches me quickly, and before I know it he's taken my knife.

"Hey! Give that back!" I shout.

"No." Connor says loudly. "Not until you've proven to me that you've learned restraint."

I glare at Connor, and I set off along the road again. I was going to loot the guards, but I don't think I'd ever see the sun again if I did. Connor wouldn't take kindly to that.

We continue onwards, towards New York. As night truly sets in, we reach the edge of the city. The guards certainly do seem more slack, and the people walk around casually. I like it.

"We will have to sneak in, but it should not be hard." Connor says quietly as we duck behind a fallen log. He peeks his head up to look at the guards, and ducks down again. I look around, and I can see a pathway glowing between the bushes. It's golden and winds its way to the city, clearly avoiding the guards. Somehow, I know I'm the only one who can see it. I turn to the pathway and before I know it I've ducked behind the bushes, hidden from the guards.

"Olivia! Get back here!" Connor exclaims quietly.

"Follow me. We can get to the city safely!" I reply.

Connor looks incredibly frustrated, but ducks down as well and follows me. I lead him along the golden path, and the guards don't see us. The path leads us up a wall of a house, over several rooftops and ends in a deserted garden. When Connor and I are both safely on the ground, he turns to me.

"What was that?" He growls quietly.

"I just knew we'd get here safely. What's your problem?" I ask.

"My problem? I don't have a problem, apart from the fact that you will get us killed!" Connor exclaims. "Unless you do what I say, we will _die. _Stop going off on your own, or at least explain yourself before you do. Next time you do something like this, I will not follow!"

"Okay, okay. Calm down." I say.

This seems to make Connor even angrier, but he pushes the anger back.

"Follow me." He says quietly.

We exit the garden via the rooftops, and continue towards somewhere towards the centre of the city. Connor leads me to a house, and knocks on the door.

"How did you know to come here?" I ask.

"I just did." Connor replies shortly. The door opens, and on the other side of it is a man. He looks like Clara.

"Who are you?" He asks, looking at Connor.

"Are you James?" Connor asks quickly.

"Yes." He replies.

Connor enters the house without another word, and I follow him. James closes the door behind us and looks slightly offended.

"Look, I don't know who you are, but what gives you the right to come into my home-" James begins.

"I'm Olivia." I say loudly.

James stops. "Sam sent you?" He asks.

"Yes. This is Connor." I say.

James raises his eyebrows as he looks at the man next to me. "My sister mentioned you. Where is she, by the way?"

"In Boston." Connor replies.

"Boston? I would've thought she'd come here." James says.

"She couldn't make it." Connor says quickly.

"Why? Is she hurt?" James worries.

"No." Connor replies.

"Then why-"

"I couldn't let her come." Connor butts in.

James looks at him with a sceptical eye. "Yes... She told me about you. About the two of you." James steps closer to Connor. He is quite a bit shorter than Connor, but he seems unintimidated. "If you mistreat her in the slightest, you won't see the next day."

"I love her. I wouldn't harm her to save myself." Connor says quietly.

James steps back, and nods.

"Well, I can't take you two to the Patriots, because my family would be shot if I was found missing." James says.

"What?" I exclaim. "Then how are we going to find the Patriots?"

"Calm down. I can tell you where their base is. And I can get you a horse, as well." James says.

Oh, no. I've never ridden a horse. I don't know how, and also they scare me. I've heard of so many people not being able to move after they've fallen off a horse. What if that happens to me?

"Thank you." Connor says.

James nods. "Wait here." He says before disappearing further into the house.

"Connor, I can't ride a horse." I say quickly, ashamed.

"I will teach you." Connor replies calmly.

"But what if I fall off? What if I break my neck?" I ask, worried.

Connor turns to me, and crouches. "I won't let that happen to you. We'll go slow at first." He says comfortingly.

I nod. "Thanks." I say. It feels nice, to have someone comfort me again.

**Okay, I know this chapter was kinda similar to the Last of Us with the horse and stuff, but it was nescecary for the plot because I needed something for Connor to comfort Olivia about. Anyway, suggestions about how to make this fanfic less like the Last of Us are always appreciated, and don't spare on criticism or whatever so you don't hurt my feelings or anything – I can take it. I'm not a four year old. Also having two older brothers toughens you up a bit.  
Thank you so much for reading and I'll see you guys after 5 reviews!**


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Olivia and I stand in the hallway of James' house. It's a medium size building, and it reminds me of Clara. As usual, the rush of guilt I feel as I think of her assaults me for a moment, before the sound of James' footsteps jerks me from my thoughts.

"Take these. I never use them anymore, and I only just managed to hide them from the guards. They'll serve you better than I." James says, holding out two backpacks. He gives one to me and one to Olivia before leading us out his back door and through the alleyways of New York. We stay hidden.

As we reach the outskirts of the city, I get more and more alert of every sound, every shadow that I see. We reach the stables, where there are several guards standing watch over it. There are four horses tied up.

"James, you must leave. Go back to your family." I say.

"Are you sure?" James asks.

"Yes. Now, go." I reply.

James turns around and heads back to his house.

"Can I have my weapon back?" Olivia asks me.

I am reluctant. The way she takes a man's life without a thought... I can't do that. Every time I deliver a killing blow, it feels as though the Native inside me gets further and further away, as if I'm losing touch with myself.

Even so, I know it's necessary, and Olivia must survive. I pull out her weapon, but I don't give it to her.

"It is not a toy. Taking someone's life is wrong." I say. I wish I could explain how I feel, make her understand _why _it is wrong, but we have no time for that.

"Alright." Olivia says, looking honest. I hand her the knife and Olivia holds it out to her side, waiting for the fight. She looks over at me, so I nod, and we duck out from the alley together. We sneak closer to the guards, and then we suddenly spring out. I leap on the first guard, stabbing him through the eye before turning to the next one, anticipating his movements and dodging, eventually seeing an opening in his chest area. I stab him in the heart and he falls to the ground. Another guard comes up behind me and I hear his sword swing through the air behind me and I duck quickly, rolling aside to avoid being decapitated by his sword. The guard misses and his sword sails harmlessly past my ear. I hear Olivia grunt, and I look over at her to see her struggling against a guard. She ducks away at the last minute, and my opponent uses this opportunity to attack.

Pain sears through my right thigh, and I look down to see a large, deep cut there. I look up, pushing the pain aside for now, and the guard attacks again. I duck out of the way and I grab his arm out of reflex, and I break his elbow, the loud crack assailing my ears. The guard cries out and I twist his neck.

I look at the multiple bodies that litter the street, and I feel a childish sense of guilt. I hide it.

One of the lessons I first learnt was to hide my emotions. They are just another way for the Templars to manipulate me.

"Are you okay?" Olivia asks, alarmed as she sees my leg.

"I will be fine. Let's go." I say. We must leave before we are found.

"Stop." Olivia says strongly, reminding me of Clara. She strides over me and grabs my hand, concentrating and squeezing hard. Suddenly, a small gash spawns on her leg.

"What are you doing?" I exclaim. "Stop!" A child will not bear my pain. It's wrong.

Olivia ignores me, and she looks like she is trying not to cry out at the pain on her leg. When she is done, she limps over to the nearest guard's body and grab his hand, squeezing hard again. She lets out a sigh of relief as the pain slowly leaves her body. When her leg has completely healed, she stands up and tests her weight.

"Thank you." I say to her.

"It's nothing." She replies.

Suddenly I hear footsteps behind us, and as I turn around I see more guards running towards us.

"Let's go!" I exclaim. I leap onto a horse and extend a hand to Olivia. She hesitates for a second, so I grab her hand and lift me onto the horse with no effort. We have no time. I dig my heels into the horse, and we lurch forwards. Olivia throws her arms around my waist, to avoid falling off. It feels very strange, to have such small arms touching me. Honestly, I like Olivia. She is a fighter.

"Connor!" She warns loudly.

"Yah!" I exclaim, digging my heels into the horse once again, and we speed up. We gallop through a farm, and eventually reach the forest. Olivia lets out her pent-up breath.

"Are you alright?" I ask, letting the horse slow to a trot.

"Yes. You?" Olivia asks.

"Fine." I reply.

We travel for a while more, until we are far from New York. I notice Olivia's grip getting lighter and lighter until she almost lets go. I stop the horse gently and turn around to see the girl falling asleep.

I dismount the horse quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping child. I dig a small burrow into the snow, until my hands reach dirt. Then I return to the horse and I lift Olivia off, careful not to wake the sleeping child. I carry her to the snow-cleared patch of dirt, laying her down to sleep. She looks very cold, and I can't help but pity her. I sit down next to her, pulling her closer to me and trying to share as much of my body heat with her as possible, so she stays warm.

As the hours wear on, I begin to fall asleep. In my dreams, Clara stars frequently, sometimes at the homestead, other times in Boston, but always saying the same thing; "You have betrayed me."

And she's right. For what husband hits his wife? Leaves her in a dangerous situation?

I do. And it is a debt I can never repay.

**~C~**

I walk along the streets with Henry, leaning on him slightly. It's been a week since my encounter with the guards, and even though my ribs feel better, they still hurt.

"What can we really do?" I ask.

"There are more of us than there are of the British." Henry points out.

"No, the British has more soldiers than us. We have none." I say.

"Clara, think about it. Look around you. There are thousands of soldiers right here, waiting to fight." Henry replies.

He has a point. I've seen the people resisting. Nothing big, but there is a growing friction among the soldiers and the people. As Henry said, like a barrel of gunpowder, waiting to be set off. They just need a fire to get them going.

"We have to set them off." I say to Henry.

"What?" He asks.

"We have to do something, to let the people know that we're fighting back." I say.

"What do you suggest?" Henry asks.

"We could paint some sort of huge message on a wall. Or kill some guards." I suggest. "People will gossip."

Henry stops. "That's brilliant! Why has no one thought of that before?" He asks, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Well, why don't you come up with an idea?" I ask.

"We could just be public nuisances. Shout stupid messages and run off. Could be fun." He says, giving me that confident smile.

"It could be fun, but you're forgetting I can't run for at least a few weeks. And I'm not letting you do it on your own." I say.

"We'll have to think about it, then." Henry says. "...Have you heard from him?" He asks, quieter than before.

My mood darkens slightly. I'm still angry at Connor, but at the same time I'd never forgive myself if he got hurt. It feels like half of me is in Boston, and Connor took the other half with him.

"No. He hasn't written or anything. I hope he's okay." I worry.

"He'll be fine." Henry says confidently. "When he gets back, he can help us resist."

I look at Henry. "Thanks." I say. It's good of him to try and cheer me up. Suddenly I have an idea.

"We could steal my old uniform. From before the Occupation. I think they're still keeping it in the prison. We could steal it and then I'd run around in it, maybe kill some guards. No one would know it's me, because of the hood." I say to Henry. I've told him all about the Assassins, and he's been unofficially recruited into the Brotherhood.

**~C~**

I wake up to Olivia shaking me. In my sleepy state, I don't understand her words yet, but the dream still lingers in my mind.

_I am in my village as it burns down once again. Yet instead of a child, I am a man. And instead of my mother being burned alive, it is Clara. I throw aside the wood pieces in my desperation to get to her, but one beam proves too heavy for me._

"Connor!" Olivia shouts again.

I take a deep breath and rub my eyes.

"What is it?" I ask.

"You were shouting. In another language." Olivia says.

Embarrassment floods me for a moment, and I can feel my ears redden. Luckily the girl can't see them behind my hair.

"I apologize for waking you." I say quietly.

"I was already awake." Olivia says, dismissing my apology.

We ready ourselves to leave, and continue onwards towards the Patriots. We mount the horse, and once again Olivia holds on to me to avoid falling off. After a while, Olivia lets out a cry.

"I saw it!" She exclaims.

"Saw what?"

"The building! The one the Patriots are in."

Caution erupts within me. Not for the first time, I suspect a trap, but we need to find the Patriots.

"Let's go." I say, dismounting the horse and tying her up, rubbing her snout before walking into the forest with Olivia.

She leads me to the small, white building. Hard to see amongst all the snow. Not a sound comes from it.

"Come on!" She exclaims.

"Quiet!" I hiss.

She looks annoyed, but does as I say.

We enter the building, and as I look inside I see something that makes my insides twist.

**So this chapter was from Connor (And Clara's) point of view! It was suggested to me by Zelink005 (I hope I got that right!) and I thought I'd give it a try! Let me know whether I should do any more like this, but it was pretty hard to write. It's hard to try and figure out what Connor would be thinking in these sorts of situations!  
Anyway, let me know in the reviews whether it was good or not and I'll see you after 5 reviews! From Jenna**


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

**~C~**

My ribs are feeling slightly better today, which is good. Henry said they're healing faster than normal, but in my opinion that's a good thing. I can run, and even though it hurts a little, it's still an improvement.

The sun's finally out today, and the city seems almost cheery. The people are resisting – and that boosts morale more than anything else could. News of Connor and Olivia's escape has spread. Henry and I do our best to circulate the gossip, and it fuels the people's resistance.

The rich folk hate us. They now only stick to their part of the city, because if they come near anyone like us they'll probably be beaten up. The guards have thrown a few people in jail. Henry and I have decided to try and steal my Assassin uniform, but we still haven't figured out how to get at it. It's almost definitely in the prison storeroom, because that's where they put all confiscated weapons and armour, and the only way we could get at that is if we're inside the prison – a near impossible feat. We couldn't sneak in; it's too well guarded.

Henry and I walk towards the market. The gallows are stationed in the center, a looming reminder, and surrounding it are the usual stores. Henry and I walk around for a while, chatting with various people and trying to encourage violent and negative thoughts about the Crown, not that they really need encouraging.

I look to my right and see a guard harassing a shopkeeper. The keeper, a woman, looks terrified of the guard, and he takes out a knife and stabs it into the table; completely unnecessary. I hurry over, stealthily and silently. I flick out my hidden blade, which I'm immensely grateful I wore today, and I slice the guard's throat. He dies instantly.

Everyone stops and stares at me. There are no other guards in sight, so I raise a finger to my lips, making sure everyone can see. I look over to Henry, and he and I drag the guard's body to a nearby alleyway, avoiding detection by the guards. We quickly return to the scene of the crime, where everyone is in the same position as when we left.

"Tell nobody." I say.

Henry and I hurry away, and as soon as we're out of sight of the market I let out my pent up breath.

"Do you think anyone will tell?" I ask.

"Hope not. I don't think they will. They hate the guards too much." Henry replies.

I look towards the newly constructed prison, which is already half full with mostly innocent people. Henry follows my gaze and then lets out a huge sound of realization.

"Clara!" He exclaims.

"What?" I ask, alert for danger.

"I know how we can get into the prison!"

"How?"

"You're not going to like it..." Henry says.

"As if I've liked any other part of the last four months? Spit it out."

"We're going to get arrested." He tells me.

I raise my eyebrows. I definitely don't like this idea, but now that Henry's thought of it it's probably our only option. I let out a sigh.

"No, I don't like that. But it's necessary." I say.

Henry smiles his large smile and laughs. "This'll be fun." He comments.

Because the only way we'll get arrested is to get into a fight. We'll get bruised and battered, and in my present condition, it's not exactly a desired plan.

**~C~**

I wake up on a hard stone floor. Rough fabric against my cheek. Thin clothing on my body offers little protection against the cold.

I open my eyes. I'm lying on a hard stone bed. In front of me are thick metal bars, with a large lock on the door. Prison. I guess the plan worked. Somehow I'm finding it hard to be happy about this, but it could have turned out worse – I could be dead.

I stand up. My cheek feels swollen. I poke my head through the bars and look into the cells on either side of me. In one is a man I've never seen before, and in the other is Henry. He's still unconscious, and clothed in the same prison rags as me. I look down, and see that my rags are "conveniently" ripped so that my breasts half show. Great. Just great.

"Henry!" I hiss, distracting myself from my own dangerous irritation.

He doesn't move. I look around and see a few pebbles laying around, so I throw them at Henry until he wakes up. He looks around for the mysterious source of rocks and immediately sees me poking my head half into his cell. He stands up and approaches me.

"What do we do now?" I ask quietly.

And Henry smiles his confident, cheery smile.

**~C~**

Henry and I sneak along the corridor. It was surprisingly easy to break out of the prison cell; I just pickpocketed the guard. It was almost too easy.

But I won't argue with good luck.

Henry holds up a hand just before we turn a corner, and we both duck into the shadows, just as a guard walks past us. He doesn't even notice us.

We keep going, and we arrive at the storeroom that contains confiscated weapons and armour. I can't help my beating heart; if we're found, we'll be shot on sight.

It's a large room, with a high roof. There are shelves and shelves, racks and racks of weapons and armour. I can't help but marvel at some of the beautiful weapons on the wall, such as a dark black bow with silver engravings on it. I have to restrain myself from taking it.

Henry and I search through the piles of weapons and armour, looking for any sign of the Assassin symbol, weapons or robes. We search for a good half hour before I find anything.

"Henry! Over here!" I hiss.

He comes quickly and silently.

"Have you found it?" He asks quietly.

I nod, and point to the uniforms high on a shelf. Too far to reach, and the only way we'll be able to reach them is if I climb up. The shelf doesn't look very sturdy, and I just know if I try to climb it, it'll fall. For sure.

Still, I have to get the uniforms. All our work will be for nothing if I don't.

"Hold the shelf." I whisper to Henry. He nods, and places his hands on it, giving a bit of support to it. I start to climb, and when I reach the top I encounter my uniform and all its weapons, along with Connor's. Suddenly I feel the shelf shake, and I nearly fall off. I try to grab onto the top of it to stabilize myself, waving my arms like a lunatic, but it only worsens the situation. I only just have time to leap off the shelf before it crashes to the ground. My stomach drops to my feet in panic, as the noise emanating from all the metal is extremely loud.

I start frantically gathering all the gear. It piles up in my arms, and Henry gathers up Connor's gear. For a second, I think about telling him to stop, to leave it.

But it's Connor. And no matter how upset or angry I am at him, I still love him with all my heart. And it kills me that we're apart.

So we exit the storeroom with two sets of Assassins uniforms.

And as I run out, my hand darts to the black bow with the silver engravings. They know we're here now, so why shouldn't I take it?

**~O~**

I wake up and my head throbs. The onslaught of memories comes flooding back to me.

_Connor and I tensed up as the guards surrounded us. We knew we had to fight, or die. So we fought. We took down as many guards as we could, but in the end it proved too much for us. Connor received a hard knock to the head, and we were dragged apart._

_I had a painful cut on my leg, so I transferred it to the guard holding me. He let go of me suddenly and I ran away, trying to distance myself from the guards, but another one grabbed me and dragged me back to Connor._

"_Connor!" I yelled, trying desperately to wake him up. I couldn't fight 20 guards on my own._

_He muttered something, it sounded like just the one word, over and over. _

"_What's 'e saying, sir?" One guard asked._

_After a few moments of listening, the leader replied. "Gibberish. He's gone mad!" He cackled._

"_The prison needs fillin' up." A guard laughed._

"_Well, then, it seems it's decided." The leader said calmly, with amusement deep in his throat._

"_No!" I shouted. _

"_Seems the girl's a little reluctant to depart the savage." A guard called._

"_Then she'll have to join him." The leader laughed._

"_No! You bastards! Let me go!" I yelled angrily, struggling against them._

_And then something hard hit my head._

And of course, as I remember the memories my head clears. I can hear the tortured screams of the inmates. The pained yells of the men and women who are locked up here.

And I'm one of them.

**Hello!  
This chapter was mainly from Clara's point of view because I missed her a bit! I hope this chapter was an enjoyable waste of your time, and I'll see you guys after 5 reviews!**


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

I can hear people screaming as I try to remember more of what happened.

I remember Connor and I found the Patriot's headquarters, and... I gasp as I remember the details.

_We enter the small building. For some reason, everything's quiet. I don't trust this. I can hear a slight creak on one of the wooden boards that floor the building. Suddenly, I know a bullet will be fired._

"_Duck!" I exclaim to Connor. We both hit the floor just in time to evade the single bullet that is fired into the air._

"_Drop your weapons and surrender!" Shouts a guard._

_I look into the room in front of us and see several bodies, still alive, who appear to be Patriots._

_Seems like Connor and I have some God-awful timing._

This isn't good. At all. Suddenly a yell penetrates the air.

"Clara!" Shouts a man. It's Connor.

And he's in agony.

**~C~**

The hot iron touched Connor's flesh again. He had endured hours of this torture, and he was at breaking point. He allowed himself only pants and grunts of pain – no scream would escape his lips yet.

"Tell us what we want to know and this will stop – Who is the girl? Why was she with you?" The man standing over him asked.

Connor was in a small room. The walls and roof were stone; as for the floors, they were out of Connor's sight. The door was wood. He was strapped to a stone table, so that he couldn't move an inch. It was almost unbearably warm with the raging fire going.

"Tell us. Now!" The man roared.

"I will never tell you." Connor grunted, glaring viciously at the man.

The white-hot metal pressed against Connor's skin again, on his chest, and his thoughts turned to Clara. He thought of her, of when they were still living at the homestead, and this time he couldn't help the shout that escaped him.

"Clara!" He shouted, not even knowing why he called for her.

Suddenly, she appeared. There was his wife, standing in front of him. She smiled, but then the torturer walked through her and the vision of Clara drifted away, like smoke.

Connor missed her dearly, and he would give anything to see her again.

**~C~**

Henry and I sprint along the streets of Boston. The guards follow us, but they're falling behind. I almost let out an exuberant laugh; for we've completed the plan. But I restrain myself. I can laugh later.

Henry and I take a sudden turn into a garden, where we both know an entrance to the tunnels are. We almost fall through the trapdoor and it slams shut just in time for the guards to run past us, unaware of the tunnels. We run along the tunnels, far away from the entrance we used, and after a while we fall to our knees, laughing and exhausted. I un-sling the beautiful black bow from my back and turn it over in my hands, marvelling at the excellent craftsmanship.

"That's nice." Henry comments.

I smile and nod. "I thought so."

"What should we do with the uniforms?" Henry asks.

"Hide them down here for now. Wait a week, then I put mine on and irritate the guards." I say, careful not to suggest that Henry would wear Connor's robes. It feels almost like I'd be betraying Connor. Thankfully, Henry picks up on my reluctance. He doesn't comment.

We stash the robes and weapons in a small and obscure hole, before we each head back to our own apartments. I lie down in bed, and once again my thoughts turn to Connor.

What's he doing right now? Is he safe? Is he alive? And what of Olivia?

So many questions, and it's annoying not to have all the answers. My anger at Connor rises again, but it fades almost immediately.

Because I know he did it for me. And I know it probably hurt him too. And even though I'm still angry at him, I'd give anything to bring Connor back.

**~O~**

Two weeks go by, painfully slow.

Each day passes slowly as I am driven half insane with boredom. The only thing that happens each day is a half a loaf of bread being thrown into my solid stone enclosure. There are no windows; even the door is solid wood, except for a tiny metal grate at the top.

And each day I am forced to listen to Connor's shouts.

He held up exceptionally well for the first three days, only shouting out once. Now, he yells out in pain every hour. Usually more. This is a man who I know is incredibly brave, and deals with pain very well. To make him shout out like I've heard him takes a lot of pain.

So every time I hear him cry out, I can't help but think what horrible tortures they've devised this time.

I know I have to escape, but the only opportunity I have is when the guard throws in my loaf of bread, and the door only opens a few inches. The door would be slammed shut on my fingers. Nevertheless, I have to find a way out; to rescue Connor and myself.

I hear another one of Connor's screams. His throat must be so raw right now, and the pain of that alone must be hard to stand.

**~C~**

The hot metal that was used on Connor for the first few days was gone. So were the powerful fists. The small dagger was gone as well.

Connor was fed during that time, at least. Now, he is hungry.

The Crown, the Templars, whoever had captured Connor, hadn't fed him for at least a week. At least, it felt like that. It might have been more. Maybe less. But in an endless time, filled with pain, whether it's from metal, flesh or his own body, Connor found that time no longer mattered.

He wondered about Olivia. About whether she was still alive. He hoped so. But hope was something that was fast leaving Connor. Either he would die from the pain, the hunger, or the injuries. Connor tried to think of some way to escape, but in his pain-and-hunger addled state, it was hard to think of even the simplest thought.

His thoughts turned to Clara. How he wanted her in that moment! To hold her again, like he had at the homestead, to feel her so close to him. He wanted to kiss her, to bare himself with her. She was safe in Boston, whereas he was dying. He knew it.

Suddenly, a door opened to Connor's right. Light footsteps entered the room, and the door was closed quietly again. Connor summoned the strength to look over at who had entered the room.

A woman. She looked around Connor's age, however old that is, maybe slightly older. She had kind eyes. She held something behind her back.

"I've brought you something to eat." The woman said quietly. She had a French accent.

She approached Connor and placed a water canteen and a loaf of bread down on the table. She untied the thick leather straps that bound him to the table. Connor thought about escaping for a moment, but realized he probably couldn't even stand, let alone exit the room, make his way out of the building.

The woman helped Connor sit up. It was hard, but Connor kept himself upright. The woman took the water canteen and held it out to Connor, who extended a weak arm and snatched it from her as fast as he could. The water is was in moments. The woman handed Connor the bread, and he wolfed the food down in seconds.

To Connor, this was heaven. Bliss.

To escape from the pain. To eat. To drink. Such things are underrated. After a moment, Connor made himself talk.

"Who are you?" He rasped in a horse voice. He winced as his throat burned painfully.

"My name is Antoinette." The woman said softly.

"Why..." Connor stopped and coughed once, the pain is his throat multiplied. "Why are you helping me?"

"I cannot tell you yet, sir, I have spent too long already. I must go." Antoinette said. She helped Connor lie down again, tied him up, grabbed her water canteen and exited the room quickly.

And the slightest spark of hope lighted inside Connor.

Perhaps he wasn't going to die.

**Okay, so that bit where Connor has kinda horny thoughts about Clara? That's actually a symptom of extreme hunger. Irritability, increased sex drive, **_**hunger**_**. All that stuff.  
So I thought I'd add it in to make this chapter a little more realistic. Anyway, follow and favourite if you enjoyed! I'll see you guys after 5 reviews **


	10. An Annoying AN

Hello readers,

I don't really know why, but I'm losing interest in Tides of a Revolution. I just kind of feel like it's getting boring. It's really glum and gloomy and depressing and stuff. Also, I'm not sure if you guys are enjoying it.

So, I was thinking, (and this isn't just me trying to get reviews or something, I really do just want to know) I have 3 options:

1. I could keep going with Tides of a Revolution.

2. I could write One-shots of Connor and Clara, but as if Tides of a Revolution never happened and it's just all kinda nice and about them and their lives together

3. I could do the same as option 2 but also at the same time write and Assassins Creed 2 fanfic.

So let me know what you think, because without you awesome people I wouldn't have a reason to write. Your opinion really does mean a lot to me! Thanks so much to the people who have reviewed, followed or favorited me and my stories!

Also, don't worry if I choose to stop writing Tides of a Revolution, because I'll post one more chapter saying what happens and stuff

Love from Jenna ;)


	11. Chapter 11

FINAL FOR TIDES OF A REVOLUTION

CHAPTER 10

For a few days, Antoinette came to Connor's cell and fed him. Today was no different, and as Connor heard the door open again he felt hopeful and afraid; hopeful for Antoinette, afraid it'll be a guard.

And Antoinette entered the room.

She untied Connor again, and handed him the water and bread. Usually she would just leave after this, but Connor grabbed her arm with surprising strength for someone who was malnourished.

"Wait." Connor said. "Why are you here? Who are you?" He asked.

"I work here. And I support the Patriots." Antoinette said.

Connor nodded. "Where are we?"

"A prison, near Boston." Antoinette replied

And Connor's heart thudded. He was close to Clara, or at least closer than he was. He knew their next stop would be Boston anyway, but it was within his reach now.

"Who is the girl who was brought here with you?" Antoinette asked.

"She is a friend." Connor replied shortly.

"I heard the guards talking this morning, just as I came in. They were talking about her. Said she's magic." Antoinette laughed.

This raised Connor's suspicion. How could Antoinette overhear that conversation? And why did she include so many details?

"...And what do you think?" Connor asked, deliberately and thoughtfully choosing this question.

Antoinette's expression flashed happy for a fraction of a second. A normal man wouldn't even notice, but Connor did.

"I don't know what to think... Is she?" Antoinette asked. She moved her hand slightly, a minute movement, but so that Connor saw a short glimpse of metal. A worker wouldn't have a weapon these days.

And this information confirmed Connor's suspicions.

"Enough with this act!" He said loudly.

Antoinette looked surprised, and slightly afraid.

"What-What act?" She asked.

Connor strode forwards and grabbed her wrist. He forced it aside and grabbed Antoinette's knife from her, but he was still weak form hunger. This made it easy for Antoinette to disarm him, and she held the knife out in front of her with one hand, while snaking her other hand into her pocket. She drew out a small box, but it was made of a strange material. Like stiff paper.

She opened the box and drew out a small stick with a red tip. She closed the box and struck the red tip of the stick against the side of the box.

And the stick lit on fire.

Connor leaped back, childishly afraid of the fire.

When his village had burned down, Connor hadn't feared the fire. After that, he still wasn't afraid.

But now, after the days of torture with the fire as the main device, Connor was afraid.

"Get on the table." Antoinette demanded.

Connor slowly and reluctantly made his way to the table, and Antoinette blew out the fire-stick before it burned her hand. She put away her knife as Connor laid down on the table, and Connor seized his chance.

He leapt on her and, quick as a flash, slammed her head against the floor. She lay still.

Connor suddenly heard a gunshot, and with his heart drumming he lay on the table, draping the leather straps over him so it would appear that he was still strapped down. After a few minutes, when Connor was sure that no guards would come into his cell, he stood up. He walked over to Antoinette and took her knife from her, before standing up and exiting his cell.

**~O~**

I sit down on the hard concrete floor. I stand up again.

Connor hasn't yelled for a long time. That can't be good; either they've killed him or he's cracked.

And I can't take this anymore. I have to escape. I let out a blood-curdling scream, and I lie down next to the door. The door opens slightly, and a guard enters. Just as he's about to close the door I spring up and sprint outside.

My heart drumming, I sprint down the hallway, terrified and exhilarated. I hear a gunshot, and then my chest feels strange.

I look down to see a large bloodstain spreading rapidly across my stomach area. And I fall to the ground.

My mind addled, I hear distorted footsteps echoing towards me. The guard picks me up, and I have just enough clarity of mind left to do one thing. I grab his arm tightly, concentrating as hard as I can. The pain slowly leaves my body, and the guard lets out a few grunts and gasps before he drops me and falls to the ground, still half alive. I take his sword from his belt and I slit the man's throat.

Suddenly, I realize my situation.

No one knows I've escaped yet. That means I have to be quiet. If a guard sees me, I'll die. Headshots are hard to transfer.

I have to get to Connor's cell; I have to check if he's alive.

**~C~**

Connor hurried down the hallway; one good thing that came from Antoinette's deception was that it gave him most of his strength back. He crouched down and ducked into the shadows as he heard footsteps approaching. As they faded down the hallway, Connor's thoughts turned to Olivia. He knew he had to find her, but her location was a mystery, and Connor had no idea how to find out where she was.

He continued along the hallways, looking in each cell through the metal grate at the top of each door. Then Connor arrived at a hallway with a dead body in the middle. He raced towards it and saw a bullet wound through the guard's chest, but his gun remained by his side. Anyone with half a brain would have taken the gun, but Connor knew Olivia. And she had more than half a brain; smart enough to know that a gunshot would draw unwanted attention. Connor looked up and saw a cell door ajar.

So Olivia had escaped. That much was fairly obvious.

She would be looking for him, Connor was sure, and naturally she would check all the cells. She would find his cell empty, with Antoinette's body there, and figure out that Connor had escaped as well; or at least, someone had escaped. But with her child-like hope, Olivia would think it was Connor.

**~O~**

I run down each hallway, jumping up to look through the cell doors. Most times someone is sleeping, so I guess its night-time. I keep going, along the hallways, and then I reach an open door, an open cell door. My heart skips a beat, and I look inside to find a woman, as if she's just woken up. She sees me and her eyes widen.

"Are you a prisoner here?" I ask her quickly, quietly.

"Yes." She answers after a moment.

"What happened?" I ask.

But then I hear footsteps in the distance.

"We must go!" The woman says urgently. She has a French accent.

I nod, and we duck out of the cell. We hurry along the corridors, sticking to the shadows and treading carefully. I hear footsteps coming from the end of the hallway, and the woman and I melt in to the shadows once again. Around the corner comes-

"Connor!" I exclaim quietly, suddenly filled with glee.

**~C~**

I see Olivia standing in the middle of the hallway, her face almost split in two upon seeing me. I smile broadly as well, and we hurry towards each other. As I reach the small child, out of instinct, I scoop her up into a tight hug. When we part, I put my hands on her shoulders and look her over.

"Are you hurt?" I ask, concerned.

"No." Olivia assures me. "And I found another prisoner," She says, turning around. "...she was right here." The girl mutters quietly.

"Another prisoner?" I ask, suddenly suspicious.

"Yes, she was French. I found her in an open cell." Olivia says.

It was Antoinette. I'm sure of it. The moment she saw me, she would have run off. She is probably telling the guards now.

"We must go." I say urgently to Olivia.

"Why? What-"

"There is no time! I will explain later!" I exclaim quietly. I turn around and creep down the hallway, my ears straining for any sound of footsteps. My greedy stomach rumbles.

We continue onwards, my heart thudding. I am in no condition to fight, and we won't be able to outrun any pursuers. We must be quiet.

**~H~**

I watch as Clara pulls up the hood on her Assassins outfit. She looks deadly, with the arsenal of weapons hanging at her belt.

"Be safe. Cause some trouble, get yourself seen, and then hide." I say to her.

Clara rolls her eyes at me, but nods. She leaps out of the window, out into the street below, and I sigh. I wish I could go with her and help inspire the people, but we have an unspoken agreement that I won't wear Connor's uniform.

The way Clara talks about him, it's plain that she loves him. I know she wants him back in Boston, but she knows he did what he had to do to keep her safe. I know I'd do the same thing for my family.

And as I think of my wife and child, rage spawns inside me.

We were separated at the start of the Occupation. I was taken to Boston; they were taken to New York. I have no idea if they're even alive, but if this is what it takes to be able to see them again, then so be it.

My wife, Jane, and my young daughter, Elizabeth, are stuck in New York. From what I've heard, it's better there than it is here, but it still ruins me to be parted from them. That is why I fight.

**~O~**

I can see a window!

For the first time in two weeks, I can see the outside!

I tug on Connor's sleeve and point to the window, and our pace quickens sharply. We continue along this hallway, and we reach what appears to be the main part of the prison.

Connor leads me down the stairs, and he seems to know where he's going. He leads us to a door, and I can hardly wait to get outside. Connor pulls on the door handle, but it doesn't budge. I can hear the guards shouting in the distance.

I notice that the door has a small glass window. It has metal decorations on it, but if we broke it I should be able to fit through.

"Give me your jacket." I say to Connor.

He looks confused, but complies with my request. I take it from him, and I wrap it around my fist. Then, with as much power as I can, I punch the glass. It shatters.

I hand Connor his jacket back, and I squeeze through the window. I get a small cut on my stomach from a broken piece of glass, but no major injuries. Connor looks at me through the window.

**~O~**

Connor and I sprint through the wilderness. My heart drums against my ribs frantically. Bullets fly through the air, but none hit us.

For some reason, I have the audacity to question this. Why don't the bullets hit?

We keep running. The soldiers must have lost us by now, the trees are so thick, but I remember Connor and I have spent two weeks locked up in that awful place. Our skills will have decreased.

We keep running. And running. And running.

Until, gradually, the bullets stop.

**~C~**

Olivia and I run through the wilderness. I'm exhausted, as a result of hunger, but I force myself onwards. We keep running.

"Connor, can we stop? Please?" Olivia asks after a time.

I slow the pace until we are still, panting and heaving. The snow around us is half melted.

I brush away the layer of snow, and Olivia lie down. I know we are going in the right direction, the moon has told me that, but I cannot help to wonder how long it will be before I can see Clara.

I drift into a world of sleep. No dreams interrupt me; this is the first night of peaceful sleep I've had in two weeks.

**~C~**

Olivia and I wake up to a frosty morning. She sleeps on, but I sit up, suddenly feeling the pain my body sends. I grunt.

I look myself over, examining the weeks of torture I endured. Multiple burn scars are forming on my chest, and there are numerous large cuts and bruises all over my body. I look towards the direction of Boston, and nothing matters anymore, nothing except getting back to Clara.

CHAPTER 11

Connor and I walk though Boston. I'm excited to be home again, and also to see Connor get back to Clara. I know he's missed her a lot.

We walk through the streets. Our clothes are slightly more tattered than most, but not so much that we look unusual. I realize how tired I am, and the piles of blankets in the tunnels, my home, suddenly seem so inviting. All I want to do it go there and sleep for a week, but until Connor's found Clara, I have to soldier on.

Just let him find her soon.

**~C~**

Henry and I walk through Boston. Today I wear my normal clothes, my Assassin uniform hidden deep in the tunnels. The past few weeks have been good; although my face has remained hidden, the Assassin symbol has become known to all. And a symbol is sometimes more powerful than a face.

It's mid afternoon. The sun is high in the sky, finally deciding to make an appearance today, and it almost seems a shame to waste such a nice day. Nevertheless, I am exhausted, so Henry and I part ways when we must, and I continue on to my room. I still miss Connor dearly.

I open the door to my house, and I walk up the stairs tiredly. I open the door to my room, and...

**~C~**

Olivia and I walk through Boston, searching for Clara. Olivia suddenly lets out a huge yawn, and I turn to see her looking exhausted.

"Olivia, go home. Sleep." I say.

"But, what about you? Clara?" She asks, her brow furrowing.

"I am a grown man, Olivia. I'll survive. You go get some rest, and I'll find you tomorrow." I say.

She nods tiredly, and heads off in the opposite direction of myself. I keep walking around for a while, before I decide to go back to the room Clara and I shared.

The thought that I could be within a hundred feet of Clara makes me happy, though I don't show it. I keep heading back to the room, and as I open the door, nostalgia floods me. I head up the same set of stairs, and open the door. Disappointment.

Clara is not here. I didn't expect her to be, but I cannot help my emotions. I sit down on the bed, noting its recent use. At least she is still alive.

Suddenly the door opens, and my heart starts flying. A huge smile splits my face, and I let out a joyous laugh. I sprint towards the figure that stands in the doorway, shocked.

**~C~**

He runs towards me, ecstatic, and pulls me into his arms, hugging me close. Connor presses his lips to mine, his smile never breaking.

"You-You're alive!" I exclaim softly. I raise a shaking hand to his cheek, emotion suddenly overwhelming me. Tears of happiness well up in my eyes.

"Konnorónhkwa." He says softly. His voice makes my heart beat unevenly.

I pull back and look into my husband's deep brown eyes. He looks tired but extremely happy, and he has a bruise on his jaw. I lean forwards again, wrapping my arms around Connor's neck and letting out a shaky breath.

"What about Olivia?" I ask, suddenly remembering the girl.

"I sent her home. She was tired." Connor replies before raising a hand to my cheek, almost as if he can't believe I'm here either.

"I missed you." I say to him as we kiss again.

"I missed you, too." Connor replies. He lifts me off my feet with no apparent effort, and presses his lips to mine again. We end up on the bed, almost as if the past few weeks never existed.

**~C~**

The sun is a bright orange. Connor and I lie in bed, dozing. My head rests against his chest, and I can see all the burn marks, cuts and bruises he acquired. I make a note to ask him what happened on his little adventure, but now I just want to enjoy the time with him.

"...Can you forgive me?" Connor asks.

"Of course. Although I _am _angry at you." I say.

He looks down at me, amused. "Really?" He asks.

I raise my eyebrows. "Really." I reply.

Connor pulls me on top of him and kisses my neck. "What about now?" He asks.

"Still angry." I say, half laughing.

He kisses my jaw. "Now?"

"S...Still angry."

His lips press on mine.

"Relatively annoyed." I say.

His arms wrap around my waist and Connor kisses my nose, making me giggle.

"I love you." I say to him, closing my eyes.

We both lie there in silence for a while more, but I have to know.

"What happened to you?" I ask.

I can feel Connor turn from happy to glum.

"Did you know there are people out there?" He asks.

"People? What do you mean?" I ask.

"Bandits. People who have escaped from the cities and lived in the forest. We have been lied to, Clara." Connor says. "We went to New York, and met up with your brother. He's alive." Connor adds.  
He tells me about going to the Patriot's headquarters, and how they were captured. He was beaten, cut, burned and starved. My stomach twists uncomfortably as he tells me this.

"Oh, Connor..." I whisper as he finishes. A mixture of rage, sadness and relief well up inside me, and I plant a kiss on his jaw, wanting to be closer to him after hearing what happened to him.

"I am here now. That is all that matters." Connor says comfortingly.

"I will make them pay. Every last guard, Templar. They will pay for what they did to you." I say softly, rage deep inside my chest.

Connor smiles softly. "I am glad to see you have not changed." He says.

"Not one bit." I reply.

**~C~**

I wake up to the sound of drunken laughter. I get out of bed to see a group of men stumbling down the street, and apparently something hilarious has just occurred, because these men are almost crying with laughter. I smile. It's good to see people enjoying themselves; especially if it's after curfew.

People don't really obey curfew anymore. There have been no more hangings since Sam's death, because the guards know that if they kill anyone these days, it will just make the people angrier. Now, anyone that dies is a martyr.

"Clara? Why are you up?" Connor asks, making me jump slightly.

"I'm sorry. A few men in the streets woke me." I say to Connor.

"What?" He asks, standing up and crossing the room in two long strides.

He sees the men stumbling down the street. "They're out." He says incredulously.

"It's not uncommon now." I say. "The people are fighting back. The Assassin symbol inspires them."

"Did you-"

"Yes. And your uniform waits down in the tunnels, when you are ready." I say.

Connor turns to me, his broad smile looking milky white in the moonlight. He has a great smile, when he shows it.

"Then we leave now." Connor says.

I beam at him, and we dress quickly. We exit our building casually and make our way down to the tunnels in secret. I lead Connor to where I've hidden the uniforms, and we put them on. I suddenly feel nostalgic of when we had a single mission; to get Charles Lee.

At least then, it was clear of what we had to do.

But now, we are faced with freeing an entire country. Boston is fighting back, but we can never be truly rid of the Templars. There will always be one, hiding away. I want to be back at the homestead, free. I want Connor's people to be free. But that cannot happen while the Templars are in power.

I turn to Connor. I've missed seeing him in his Assassin uniform, and I stand up on my toes to kiss him. Connor wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me up, so that I don't have to stand up to reach him. I smile.

"Shall we go?" I ask.

"Not just yet." Connor mutters back.

I let out a small laugh before I hear a soft giggling. My eyes widen; it's definitely not Connor making that noise. I stop kissing, and Connor pulls back, wondering why I've stopped. He hears the giggling too.

"Olivia!" He calls, sounding annoyed. "Come out!"

"No, I'm comfortable here." A little girl replies, half laughing.

Connor puts me down, and I blush slightly. He walks around the wall, and comes back holding Olivia's wrist. She looks as if she's about to burst out laughing. Connor crouches down to her height.

"Olivia, you cannot watch people when they..." Connor trails off awkwardly.

"When they what?" She asks innocently.

Connor gives her a glare, and she looks over his shoulder at me.

"Hello, Clara." She says.

"Hi." I greet.

She gives me a broad smile, before tugging her hand out of Connor's wrist. She steps backwards slowly. "I'll leave you two alone, then." She says playfully. Connor looks as if he's going to chase her, but she darts off through the tunnels.

Connor turns to me. "I apologise." He says, abashed.

"Don't worry." I say. I can't help but think about the way Connor acts to Olivia. "You really care about her, don't you?" I ask him.

Connor looks at me, obviously not wanting to talk about his emotions. I understand, and I can tell anyway. He thinks of her as a little sister.

"We should go." I say to him.

He nods, and we both flip up our hoods, running out of the tunnels, onto the streets. The sun is rising, and stallkeepers are just setting up their stalls. As we run through the marketplace, the guards start shouting and the stallkeepers begin clapping as they see us. The guards begin the chase, but we evade them easily.

How good it feels, to be running with Connor again!

I let out a joyful laugh, and Connor looks at me. Our hands brush as we leap onto another rooftop, and we keep running until the guards have lost us. We sit down on a rooftop and watch the sun rise, our hands joined.

I can feel it in my bones; this will be a revolution. A good one. We will win, and drive the Crown out. They can go back to England, the bastards. I smile broadly at Connor, and he smiles back.

"You said the Patriots needed a new headquarters?" I ask him.

"Yes. What are you thinking?" Connor asks.

"I'd bet the homestead has a few cobwebs. Maybe we should... fix it up. Move back in." I say to him, smiling playfully.

Connor grins understandingly. "Maybe we should."

I lean my head against his shoulder, amusement tickling me. All of a sudden, I'm eager for the fighting to start. I haven't killed any Redcoats for a while, and I'm betting a lot of the people in Boston would want to fight as well.

CHAPTER 12

Spring.

Oh, how I've missed you.

The warm air, the flowers that have gone missing for the long, cold months of winter, are back. They greet the change in weather with their bright colours. The snow has melted completely, and the grass looks greener than ever.

Connor and I dress in our normal clothes; our Assassin uniforms are still in the tunnels. We head to the marketplace, where we agreed to meet up with Henry and Olivia. We've been staying in Boston for the past few days, but tomorrow we return to the homestead.

People come and go between cities, now; as long as they're willing to get past the bandits and raiders stationed along the roads. It's almost like it was before the Occupation.

Connor and I arrive at the marketplace, but it's not what we expected.

The crowd is furious about something. They are screaming and shouting angrily, their attention directed towards the gallows. As I look towards them, I see a small figure being led up to them.

"Olivia!" Connor shouts.

We begin pushing through the crowd as they tie Olivia up to the whipping post. Connor fights through the crowd. She looks up and, shockingly, displays a broad, vicious smile.

"I am a child!" She roars. "And yet I fight!"

And with that the guard brings down a whip on her back. She lets out a gasp of pain, but doesn't yell out.

Connor roars in anger and leaps up onto the stage, spreading himself in front of Olivia just before the next whip is brought down. It cracks down into his back with a painful snapping sound. I follow him up into the stage, and I pull the whip from the guard's hand. I wrap it around his neck and twist strongly. He falls to the ground.

The crowd lets out a loud roar of fierce joy. Connor and Olivia stand up, and we all raise our hands. Then, I see a whole platoon of guards run around the corner, and I draw the guard's sword. Connor pulls out his tomahawk, and Olivia takes her knife out.

"Fight!" I scream out to the crowd, hoping to incense them. No one runs away. The guards see half of Boston standing there, all ready to fight, and they slow down. The Redcoats and the people clash.

One by one, people fall. Redcoats, too. The people take the guard's swords, and they fight. Connor, Olivia and I all fight too, taking down a majority of the guards, until most of the people are left and the guards are dead.

I can see some of Connor's people mixed in with the crowd; the fields were burned down weeks ago. I turn to Connor, and we both run out of the crowd, Olivia staying behind.

**~!~**

The Patriots had won the war.

With all the people at their side, it was a sure win.

The British had retreated, and with them, the Templars.

They would never truly be gone, but the Assassins would always fight.

Always.

**Heyy guys!  
Okay, so I know the ending was shitty but I couldn't think of another way to end it and I'm just SO lazy tonight! Anyway, please don't kill me and I also wanted you to know that I'm going to be doing one-shots of Connor and Clara as if Tides of a Revolution never happened. I'm also going to be writing an Assassin's Creed 2 fanfic (Ezio/OC), so be sure to follow me if you want to read it!  
A HUGE thanks to all the people who have reviewed, followed, and favourited this disappointing story. I'm sorry I stopped halfway through, but I just lost passion for the story. And my motto in life is to do what makes me happy. Writing makes me happy, but this fanfic didn't. If I had decided to keep going with it, it probably wouldn't have been very good anyway because I didn't want to be writing it.  
Again, thank you so much to everyone who has read, followed, favorited, reviewed, blah blah blah. I really hope you enjoy reading my one-shots and my AC2 fanfic!  
Love from Jenna ;)**


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